


The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

by ineedabetterhaircut



Series: Stiles Stilinski and the Olympians [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, a teeny tiny bit of derek/jordan, a very twisted aphrodite, allison and derek are siblings, chris is zeus, derek is still a werewolf, kate is ares, peter is aphrodite, sheriff stilinski is poseidon, stiles as percy is fun fun fun, talia is athena, teen wolf pjato crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedabetterhaircut/pseuds/ineedabetterhaircut
Summary: Stiles Stilinski has grown up surrounded by things that can’t be explained, a troubled kid with ADHD and dyslexia always written off, pushed around, or ignored. When his chemistry teacher tries to kill him on a school field trip, his entire life is turned upside down. This is the story of a hero in the making.





	The Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> (AKA the one where the author is a slut for the Percy Jackson series!!)

If Stiles had to trace back to the moment his life went to shit, he would have to guess it started with his literal conception, because when you’re the spawn of a greek god and a mortal life is always a little hectic. 

But despite multiple instances of weirdness- that time Stiles had been playing in second grade and a creepy growling dude had stood ten feet from him before school security chased him off, that other time he and his mom were out eating ice cream and a giant winged horse flew over Central Park, or even that one time where a woman screaming about prophecies and death had attempted to attack them with a bronze knife in Washington D.C.-Stiles had a pretty normal, shitty upbringing similar to any other poor kid in New York City, at least until they had to move to San Francisco after his babcia died. Claudia, his mom, worked two jobs and somehow managed to put up with Stiles’ constant trouble at school AND his garbage step father, Gabe (not only was Gabe a trash human being, he also smelled like a dumpster with his cigarette breath and beer-stained wife beaters. Stiles hated him more than he hated any other person on the planet, and that was really saying something because he had met a lot of crap people in his life). 

They lived in a more decrepit stucco apartment on Ellis Street, in a neighborhood lined with chain fences and furnished with attack dogs and sleazy “magazine” stores; it kinda reminded Stiles of their old apartment in New York City, except that apartment had smelled like home and his babcia’s cooking, with little blue flowers growing in the cracks in the pavement. He missed the city, and his babcia, and their life pre-Gabe; he missed the churro stand by his house, he missed his friends, he missed seeing his mother smile all the time, he missed going to Mets games, basically, he missed a lot of things. He had never really adjusted to San Francisco, because to him home was and always would be New York. He didn’t hate San Fran though; he liked being able to walk to the beach and visiting the cool little stores lining the streets, and he liked that his mom working at a seaside ice cream place always got him free, weirdly flavored stuff. So he liked it okay, it just wasn’t really his favorite place in the world. Plus, living there and going to the Yancy Academy for Troubled Young Men was kind of what got him into this mess in the first place. It’s how he figured out he was a half-blood, and that he was destined to die in a way that promised to be long and painful. It all started with a school trip gone wrong.

***

Up until that horrible visit to the de Young Museum, Stiles’ life had been short, terrible, and painfully boring. Sure, weird stuff happened here and there, but all those strange moments were washed away and forgotten under the shitty monotony of Stiles’ day to day existence. His mom worked all day, came home to make a quick meal, than left to work some more. Gabe stayed home all day playing poker and smoking. Stiles went to Yancy Academy, because he had managed to get himself kicked out of every other school on this side of San Fran; he had ADHD, dyslexia and a loud mouth, so he wasn’t exactly a favorite in school. Yancy was boring, with stiff uniforms and stiffer teachers, and he was failing every class except Ancient History. Dr. Deaton, the history teacher, was the coolest and most infuriatingly cryptic guy Stiles had ever met. He had dark skin, a black goatee, and was always in a motorized wheelchair. His head was smooth and bald, and while he looked no older than thirty five, his dark eyes were ancient and all knowing. Sometimes he was unnerving and weird, but mostly he just made Yancy bearable. He made class fun and engaging, and could speak fluent Latin and Ancient Greek. He always seemed to have immense faith in Stiles, though they had only known each other for less than a year, and was patient and encouraging. Which was why Stiles was actually looking forward to behaving on this trip, because Dr. Deaton was leading it. He was determined to have fun and stay out of trouble. In hindsight, that was too optimistic.

Anyways, the whole ride there this kid Matt kept messing with Scott, Stiles’ best buddy. Scott was unfortunately an easy target for bullies at the boys’ prep school, because he was scrawny and walked funny and needed his inhaler all the time, plus he was a crier. Stiles was fuming right next to him, knowing he couldn’t even do anything because stupid Mr. Harris (the chem teacher) was a chaperone on the trip and hated Stiles’ guts. Matt was reaching over the seat and pulling Scott’s strands of unkempt wavy brown hair that were poking out under his beanie, and Stiles was officially seething. 

“I just wanna punch him,” he muttered under his breath, and Scott shook his head stubbornly. 

“It’s fine, Stiles. Matt’s a loser anyway,” he said the last part quietly so he wasn’t overheard, but Stiles could’ve sworn that Matt’s next yank was a little harder. Scott just sighed, focusing on the game of Temple Run on his phone. 

“We’re sixteen and the guy acts like he’s twelve goddamn years old,” he shot back, making sure his voice carried a bit. Scott rolled his eyes, silently communicating that he thought Stiles was being stupid before going back to his game.

When they got there, it actually turned out to be pretty cool. The de Young Museum was a bronze colored building with a tall spiraling structure, and on the inside there was a mix of new and old art. Stiles looked around with wonder while Dr. Deaton gave a history lesson on each old piece they came across, and for once he was actually enjoying himself. Minus the fact that every time he turned around Mr. Harris was glaring at him coldly, almost like he was considering ways to eat Stiles for lunch. He shuddered at that horrible mental image, turning around to join the group in staring at a large marble statue of what looked like Zeus; Dr. Deaton was in the middle of lecturing, and Matt was snickering loudly about Zeus’ junk. Stiles couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please just shut up,” he said loudly, and the whole class turned to look at him. He could feel his face glowing bright red, and coughed awkwardly at the sudden attention. 

“Mr. Stilinski, do you know who this statue represents?” Dr. Deaton asked with one eyebrow raised, looking like he was expecting a very obvious answer. Stiles racked his brain, thinking about the story of Zeus, the fall of Kronos, and all that other stuff.

“Uh, Zeus was the ruler of the gods and the sky. He was the son of Kronos, and managed to not be eaten by his father. I’m pretty sure he saved his eaten siblings after that, and they overthrew the titans and sliced Kronos up into tiny pieces.” Dr. Deaton looked back at him with a twinkle in his eye, and he felt a surge of pride at actually knowing something for once. 

“Excellent, Mr. Stilinski. Very promising. Just remember,” he began with sudden seriousness, his eyes grave, “this is very important to your life. All of it applies, and will help you someday. I will accept only the best from you- you all,” he corrected suddenly, and whatever moment had been happening was over now. Stiles felt embarrassed; why did Dr. Deaton always call him out? Why did he have so much misplaced faith in him? The group continued through the museum before one of the teachers called for a lunch break. Kids sat in the cafe or on the floor near a giant fountain, tearing open their brown bags or standing in line with money. Scott and Stiles walked over to sit on the edge of the fountain. 

“Sometimes I can’t figure out what his deal is,” Stiles grumbled as they sat, and Scott looked at him knowingly. 

“He just wants to see you succeed, dude. Nothing more, nothing less,” he said matter of factly, and Stiles snorted as he ate his PBnJ. 

“Yeah, right. Deaton doesn’t-” but he was cut off when Matt walked up to Scott and poured a whole cup of bright red soda in his lap. He grinned evilly, making him look like a deranged sociopath. Stiles felt his blood boiling.

“Hey, dickbag-”

“Stiles, don’t,” Scott begged, looking worried. But Stiles was too angry, his vision going red and suddenly, Matt was sprawled ass first in the fountain.

“Stiles fuckin shoved me!” he spluttered, and Mr. Harris was there, cold eyes and all. Kids were whispering crazily, and Scott was pale as he looked at Stiles in horror. Stiles was just angry and confused, feeling spikes of terror when Mr. Harris clamped onto his arm with inhuman strength. 

“You’re coming with me, Mr. Stilinski.” His voice was like steel, and Stiles gulped.

“Wait, no! It w-wasn’t Stiles’ fault, it was m-mine, I-I swear,” Scott stuttered desperately, and Stiles couldn’t believe he was trying to sacrifice himself like that. He made a cutting motion with his hand, and Scott shook his head with wild eyes. Mr. Harris looked back at him indifferently, though there was a murderous glint in his eye that definitely wasn’t a good thing.

“Stay put, Mr. McCall-”

“-but-”

“-Stay.” And Scott was left staring at Stiles desperately with a forlorn look in his eyes. Stiles shrugged back at him, flashing him a nervous grin and thumbs up as Mr. Harris speedily dragged him away from the others. He noticed that Scott kept looking between him and Dr. Deaton, like he wanted someone to witness Stiles’ impending doom. He got more and more nervous as they went further into an exhibit that was designed like a dark forest, black trees stretching over them as the light got dimmer and dimmer. Mr. Harris’ nails were digging into the meat of his arm, painful enough that he had to stifle a hurt noise. They were now in the middle of the forest exhibit, completely alone. Mr. Harris was making weird growling noises and staring at Stiles with glowing eyes, his fingernails starting to lengthen into sharp talons and his skin black and leathery.

“Uh…” Stiles was trying really really hard not to freak out. _This isn’t real_ , he thought faintly, as demon-Harris crept closer. He felt a styrofoam tree against his back and knew he was trapped, wishing Scott or Dr. Deaton were here to help him. 

“We gave you the opportunity to turn yourself in,” demon-Harris spoke, his voice ancient and serpent like. “You would have suffered considerably less.” Stiles’ eyes were darting around, looking for any sort of exit among the black trees. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, you stupid leathery freak,” he shot back, because his brain to mouth filter was pretty much nonexistent in stressful situations. Mr. Harris sneered with yellowed fangs, and Stiles got the feeling that he was probably gonna die because his fucking _chemistry teacher_ was a psycho monster. 

“Time’s up, _Syn Morza_ ,” he growled, black wings sprouting from his back. Stiles flinched at the sound of his real name slipping off demon-Harris’ tongue. As he attempted to crouch behind a tree, he saw Dr. Deaton at the mouth of the exhibit.

“Stiles! Catch!” He threw a ball point pen, Stiles catching it between two fingers as he ducked to avoid being sliced by black talons; the tree behind him was torn open, styrofoam bits littering the floor. When he looked down, the pen was a long bronze sword. He stared at it in awe. 

“Holy shit. That’s a fucking sword.” It was shining in the dim light. 

Demon-Harris swooped down and Stiles yelped, stabbing blindly upward into the monster’s stomach. He let out a piercing scream before disintegrating into golden sand, a mix of sulfur and death settling in the air as Stiles curled in on himself, breathing harshly. His sweat slick hand was gripping the sword-which was now a pen- and the world was blurring in and out of focus, tilting and whirling. 

He was having a panic attack. 

Fantastic. 

He felt a smooth hand on his shoulder.

“Worry not, _Syn Morza_. You did well,” a soothing voice that sounded like Dr. Deaton’s said, and Stiles was left alone to breathe raggedly by himself, wondering if he’d just experienced some sort of psychotic break. 

***

When he finally managed to walk out on shaky legs and find his group, Stiles was half expecting some other creature to jump out at him. But Scott was chomping on his sandwich, and Dr. Deaton was reading a book and looked like he’d never moved. Matt was glaring at him as he walked over to Scott, but Stiles was too shaken to do anything back. 

“I hope Mr. Ford kicked your ass,” Matt called after him, and Stiles was shaking his head tiredly when his words registered in his brain. Wait-

“-Mr. Ford?” he asked wearily. “Who’s Mr. Ford?” Matt and his cronies chuckled, the sound ugly and grating against his ears. 

“You’re really brain dead, Stilinski,” Matt sneered, and Stiles just stared back at him in confusion before sitting down next to Scott with a thump. 

“Who the fuck is Mr. Ford? What happened to Harris?” 

“Who?” Scott’s gaze was averted from his, and his hands were twitching, a tell tale sign of lying in one Scott McCall. Stiles growled in frustration. 

“That’s not funny, bro. Stop fucking around,” he snapped, pushing himself off of the fountain’s edge and making his way to Dr. Deaton.

“Dr. Deaton,” he started, hesitating. He felt crazy. 

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski?” His dark eyes were piercing through his soul, and it was really freaky. 

“What happened to Mr. Harris? The chemistry teacher?” Dr. Deaton stared back at him blankly, and his stomach dropped to his toes. He took a moment before answering Stiles’ question carefully, a concerned frown lining his face.

“Stiles, Mr. Ford has always been our chemistry teacher here at Yancy Academy. There is no such person as Mr. Harris.”

**Author's Note:**

> Syn Morza: son of the sea in polish
> 
> I love the idea of mixing mythologies to have a universe where supernatural creatures and Greek gods can coexist, and I also think that Annabeth and Percy’s relationship reminds me so much of Derek and Stiles. Set in the same time as the Teen Wolf universe, and Camp Half Blood is in California instead of New York; some locations were tweaked. Also there will be divergence from the plot because creative license, though some PJATO characters have remained. Enjoy this shit show. It’s gonna be a long ride. P.S. I'll try to update as frequently as possible but it's junior year so there are no promises.


End file.
